


Open Books

by sonictrowel



Series: Long Night in the Blue House [34]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, some kinda reading kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonictrowel/pseuds/sonictrowel
Summary: When they settled in bed with her next chapter, he instructed her to read it aloud to him. (He’d have asked, but River was always game when he went all strict.) She raised her eyebrows and smiled, impish and intrigued, as he passed the papers back to her.If he’d thought this would give him the upper hand, he had perhaps miscalculated. The Doctor was, admittedly, defenceless against his wife’s voice. It was a voice made to recite Shakespeare and Ovid and Rumi, to inspire a raging Viking army before battle, to lure sailors to their deaths on sharp rocks.





	Open Books

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of, um, reading/writing-kink smutception?
> 
> I don't really know how this happened but, er, enjoy, hopefully.

 

It had started when River was writing her 'romance' novel. Whenever she had a new chapter, they’d climb into bed together, propped up against the headboard with the Doctor’s arm thrown around her as he read it. Sometimes that would be it; he'd make a few suggestions and they’d discuss edits and make notes, and he’d compliment her until she was truly blushing and she kissed him quiet.

Other times, the subject matter leant itself to a... different editorial method. He knew whenever it was one of _those_ chapters because River would be curled into him, her hand and her head resting on his chest and one leg thrown over him, her knee slowly creeping higher. All the better for her to hear his pulse rising and feel him fidgeting as he read, and fucking torture him accordingly. She’d get that little smirk on her face and a sparkle in her eye as she started slowly wriggling her body against his.

He’d try to glare at her, torn between being riveted by the words on the page and the ever rapidly-growing desire to throw her back on the bed and kiss that cheeky grin off of her (for starters.) He usually made it halfway through before she broke down the last of his defences and he threw the papers aside and grabbed her while she let out a wicked giggle. They always got back to the read-through, eventually. But it was a lucky thing River had very good writing instincts, because it was not exactly the most thorough editing process.

After around a dozen of these sessions, the Doctor decided it was high time he turned the tables.  When they settled in bed with her next chapter, he instructed her to read it aloud to him. (He’d have asked, but River was always game when he went all strict.) She raised her eyebrows and smiled, impish and intrigued, as he passed the papers back to her.

If he’d thought this would give him the upper hand, he had perhaps miscalculated. The Doctor was, admittedly, defenceless against his wife’s voice. It was a voice made to recite Shakespeare and Ovid and Rumi, to inspire a raging Viking army before battle, to lure sailors to their deaths on sharp rocks. But he alone had the distinct privilege of hearing her full, mellifluous range.  Her delighted low giggles, her squeaks of surprise and laughter, her whinging and sighing and grumbling.  Loving and sincere and clear as a bell, contented and sleepy and satisfied, or in a broken whisper thick with emotion.  Or scolding him, a note of fondness always breaking through her irritation.  

And then there was the whole other range of favourites that he loved to coax out of her, spanning an impressive number of octaves.

So as she began to read the chapter aloud, her tongue curling sensually around each word and imbuing even the most mundane language with tantalising innuendo as she set the scene, the Doctor decided he was going to need another advantage. And well, as they say, all’s fair…

He sat up and crawled over her, and she moved the arm holding the pages to the side and turned her head to accommodate him.  Her voice never lost its sultry rhythm, though he could see she was waiting expectantly for what he’d do next. His lips were drawn to her throat, tasting the soft skin there and feeling the deep reverberation of her words.

"Brooke pulled John by the hand," she read, "and ducked into an open door, barring it behind them.  It seemed they'd stumbled into the electrical room, and Brooke turned back to listen for the heavy footfalls of their mechanical pursuers over the hum of the equipment.  But before she knew it John's mouth was on hers, his hands roughly pulling her against him."  

Of course, _they_ had never gotten up to anything like that. That would just be highly irresponsible. You didn’t survive to two thousand by shagging your wife in cupboards while Cybermen were chasing you.

Well, not generally, probably. Unless you were  _very_ lucky.

The Doctor kissed his way down from River’s throat to the neckline of her shirt while his fingers hooked into the waistband of her leggings. Clearly she had figured out the game and was not about to back away from a challenge, because she lifted her hips so he could slip them down her legs, taking her knickers with them.

The Doctor studied his wife for a moment as he rubbed his palms softly along her thighs. No way to get her shirt off without interrupting the reading. He’d just have to cut to the chase.

His hands gently gripped her hips while he kissed her just below her navel, his mouth moving slowly, steadily lower. He felt River’s body tense with anticipation, though her voice didn’t waver. She continued to describe the eponymous heroine and her lover, who'd been unexpectedly reunited after circumstances tore them apart; now clinging to each other, frantic and half-dressed.

"'What are you doing here?' John asked breathlessly, busying his mouth at her neck and his hands under the hem of her dress.  'Same as you,' Brooke sighed happily.  'Looking for trouble.'  John shook his lowered head, but she knew he was smiling."

River read on, her words at once tender and earnest and, well, incredibly sexy.  A lovely, Rivery combination if ever he’d heard one.  He tried to stop that train of thought before it carried him away, and returned his focus to the pleasant task at hand.

The Doctor was a pretty shite editor, if he was quite honest. As long as he was finally managing to be a good husband, he didn’t think River minded.

He lowered his head, pressing his lips to the little sprinkling of freckles on her upper thigh. She slid down on the pillows so that she was more horizontal, and spread her legs invitingly.  Not wanting Brooke and John to get farther ahead of them, the Doctor made himself comfortable and leaned into her, letting out a hot, teasing breath over her skin before he buried his face between her thighs and opened his mouth to taste her.

River was _really_ not used to not making noise.   _I’m quite the screamer_  had been a fixture of Bow Tie’s most very private thoughts for _quite_ a lot of years (god, what a waste of time,) before he witnessed it first-hand.  And then, oh, that promise was fulfilled.  Frequently.

At the moment, River's muscles were held taut with the effort of maintaining control as the Doctor patiently traced over every soft contour of her wet, sinuous skin with his tongue.  He warmed her up slowly, teasing and exploring and never keeping to a rhythm.  

"John," River read, her voice indulgent and passionate verging on camp, "pinned Brooke up against the riveted steel wall, his hands moving all over her body, his hot mouth covering hers.  He seemed to be trying to say with his deep, desperate kiss all the things he couldn’t quite manage to say aloud."  She'd sounded more soft and fond, toward the end.

The Doctor hummed gently in recognition, and her tense muscles jumped beneath him.  He brought his mouth back to centre, finally setting a slow, steady pace of soft upward strokes with his tongue, and River's breathing hitched.  She continued to narrate, her descriptions flowery and filthy by turns, her voice beginning to tremble nearly as much as her thighs.  It was quite possibly the sexiest thing the Doctor had ever heard in his life, and he screwed his eyes shut for a moment as he felt a powerful wave of desire wash over him like a physical force.  He breathed deeply through his nose until he could completely focus on his task again.

River was still trying valiantly to keep her voice sensual and steady, but more and more it was sounding low and rough, her body shaking as she struggled to stay focussed.  

"She locked her legs around John's narrow hips, and he—"

The Doctor added a swirl of his tongue and a soft pull of his open lips on her clit, and her words caught on a high gasp.  She began reading again, until he repeated the motion and she trailed off into a moan.  Ah, finally, he was winning at something.

As if she'd heard his thoughts (and perhaps she had; she did always say he thought very loudly when he was smug,) the pages rustled above, and River stubbornly resumed her narration, her voice breathy and shaky and frequently building nearly into a shout.  

 "She could hear the heavy— _fuck,"_ she gasped, "the heavy _steps_ of their pursuers approaching outside the," her thighs were trembling violently, "the— door—" she shouted and threw her head back, her whole body rocking in time to the rhythm of his tongue.

"You surrender?" the Doctor asked, pausing to glance up at her.  River groaned, rough and high at the end with vicious frustration as she glared down at him.

"Sweetie," she growled, "please shut the fuck up."

He smirked, victorious, his mouth already on her again.  He picked up his former pace and her desperate cries came in time with her rocking hips, growing louder and higher as she trembled.  She reached a hand down toward him and he grasped it, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently.  

River screamed and arched her back off of the bed when she came, her body stretched taut in beautiful curving lines, before slowly coming back down to the mattress.  

The Doctor never moved or ceased lavishing her with his attention, listening to her heavy, ragged breathing slowly turn to moans again, her body shuddering as he gently but persistently worked over her sensitive nerves.  She'd tell him if it was too much, but he definitely planned to enjoy his victory a few more times.

Quite a while later, they were collapsed at an odd angle over the bed, sweaty and exhausted and euphoric.  River leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"So," she asked, her voice hoarse, "any notes?"

 

___

  

Their reading games were replaced with something a little more tranquil when River finished her novel and the Doctor gave her his diary.

About halfway through, there started to be the odd entry that was not a recap of events or brief notes on a milestone in their relationship, but, well… alright, they were love letters.

Their meetings were very slowly starting to become farther apart by then, and even though it was nowhere near the end, the Doctor felt the stretching distance between them acutely. He missed her absolutely desperately between each one.

He’d been too embarrassed to actually send the letters to River, obviously, since he couldn’t even bloody say the word to her most of the time.  He thought— he _feared_ she’d never have the chance to read them. But he hoped she would, someday. Preferably when he was far away so as to avoid humiliating himself.

Funny that he’d ever fucking cared about a thing like that. It pained him now, knowing how much good these words would have done if he’d given them to his wife when they were written. How much of her hurt he could have eased with such a simple fucking thing as a reassurance of his love. All those years going without, and now she was drowning in it all at once.

But River didn’t seem to mind.

The Doctor had been reading his diary aloud to her so far, but when it came to the first of these entries, he offered her the book.  Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise as she glanced over the page.

"Babyface wrote this?" she asked softly, incredulous.

"I know, I should have given them to you," he replied, voice low and heavy with his regret.

River cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb across it in reassurance, and returned her gaze to the page.  Then her eyes snapped back to his as she asked _"Them?"_

—

_My dear River,_

_I hope someday you'll be able to read this.  I miss you very terribly when we're apart.  I'm always wishing I could share everything I see with you— every beautiful discovery and mad chase, and every pot of tea and every night I lie in our bed.  I dream about what it could be like for us to travel together, properly, permanently.  Those are my best dreams._

_And even if that can never happen, you're worth every second I spend missing you._

_x_

 

_River, my clever, bad, lovely girl,_

_I found your lost earring when I changed the sheets.  Speaking of, I'm going to need you to come over immediately, because the new ones don't smell right.  How can I be expected to sleep?_

_I suppose I could just phone and tell you that, but I started writing this down because I don't think I could tell you out loud how very much I love finding your earrings and smelling you in my sheets._

_Stop making me so humany.  (But actually, please, don't.)_

_x_

 

_My amazing wife,_

_Did you know that I asked you to marry me?  Before Berlin, I mean.  It was sort of by accident, and of course, you were already married to me, but you did say yes._

_I'm sorry I didn't ask when I should have done._ _I keep thinking about the things I wish I'd done differently._

_You know we are properly married— you know it counts.  To me, it counts.  I don't know what I've been hanging onto by not telling you my name.  No, I do know.  There's just something I want to postpone, forever if possible, and if I don't do something that I know happens first, then it can't happen yet, right?_

_But that's selfish of me and doesn't really make sense and anyway I'm coming now and I'm going to tell you.  I'm excited for you to know, really.  I'm excited to hear you say it.  I'm happy to be yours, honey._

_x_

_—_

Whenever River read one of his little love notes aloud, the Doctor wrapped his arms around her and hid his face against her stomach— maybe he was still a  _little_ embarrassed— sliding his hands under her shirt and just holding her close; feeling her warm, soft skin; kissing any part of her he could reach.  Her voice was soft and tender and hovered over each word, as though by speaking them she was taking them carefully to heart, fitting each one finally into its rightful place in her memories.

When she finished, she slid down the pillows to face him, and he kissed her, slow and thorough and deep.

Until she began writing her next book, this would do nicely.


End file.
